


Contracts

by GreatGloriaScott



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, proposal fic, viclock exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatGloriaScott/pseuds/GreatGloriaScott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On June 15th of 2011, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew’s while John Watson watched on in horror.  Ten hours later, the world’s only consulting detective sat by a fire waiting for a Secret Intelligence Service agent that Mycroft insisted on pinning on him. He heard footsteps and turned his head to inspect the doorway where stood a man whom he hadn’t seen for nine—<br/>“Eight and a half years, Victor. Not nine,” Sherlock corrected, standing and walking over to the taller man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contracts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thessbakerstreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thessbakerstreet/gifts).



> This is my (VERY LATE. UNFORGIVABLY LATE) gift for thessbakerstreet for the viclock exchange on tumblr.

On June 15th of 2011, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew’s while John Watson watched on in horror.  Ten hours later, the world’s only consulting detective sat by a fire waiting for a Secret Intelligence Service agent that Mycroft insisted on pinning on him. He heard footsteps and turned his head to inspect the doorway where stood a man whom he hadn’t seen for nine—

“Eight and a half years, Victor. Not nine,” Sherlock corrected, standing and walking over to the taller man.

“Ah… My bad, Will,” Victor said, pulling the other into an awkward embrace, much due to the fact that Sherlock stood stiffly.

Sherlock cleared his throat and went back over to sit by the fire, gesturing to the adjacent chair for Victor to sit. “So you didn’t take over the New York branch of your father’s company, then,” he stated, looking into the fire. “Instead, you began working for my brother. And neither of you saw it fit to say anything…” His tone of voice was harsh, much harsher than he intended upon seeing his former lover. But the breakup was abrupt and seemingly final…Sherlock had a right to be upset.

“There was a contract, Will—“

“Sherlock,” the detective said pointedly. “I go by Sherlock. And I’m sure there was a contract.” His voice was cold and he stood, nodding toward the dark-skinned man. “I’ll brief you on the current situation tomorrow morning. It’s late, and faking my death was quite strenuous so goodnight.”  

Victor opened his mouth to protest, but he ended up letting the other walk away to think. He knew Sherlock was never one to turn in when there was planning to do, but Victor’s presence must have disturbed him.  It had been too long.

 

It took four months for the pair to rekindle their relationship in the form of Victor sputtering out the three words Sherlock hadn’t heard for nearly nine years. It took a year for Sherlock to verbally reciprocate.  Dismantling Moriarty’s network was tricky and violent, and it landed the pair with a plethora of scars between the two of them. Many of which marred the alabaster skin that Victor enjoyed putting his lips to.  Many of which Sherlock assured Victor were signs of character.

 

In November of 2013, Sherlock Holmes was called back to London to deal with a terrorist threat. Within the hour of his return, he committed petty theft and impersonation at a high-class restaurant and got kicked out of three establishments.  Half an hour later, he sat in Victor’s new London flat with an ice pack to his face and his boyfriend laughing at him.

“Oh Bee…I don’t know why you’d think that was your best option,” Victor chuckled, leaning into the couch and watching Sherlock with an amused grin.

“Shut up,” Sherlock sneered. He sat on the other side of the sofa and glared at the crap telly program that Victor had on.

Victor, being the great boyfriend he was, said nothing. Instead, he put his arm on the back of the couch as an open invitation to cuddle, which Sherlock readily accepted.  After a few moments, he looked down at the man in his arms and his laughter restarted. “Really, though. ‘Not dead.’ That’s how you greeted John Watson?”

There was a bit of silence, and Sherlock glared up at his partner. He stood abruptly and marched away to Victor’s bedroom.  

Victor was about to apologize when Sherlock’s irate voice sounded.

“Victor, are you coming to bed, or are you stuck to the telly? It was the bartender. It’s much too obvious. Case closed.”

Victor chuckled to himself and turned off the television and the lights, following the ridiculous love of his life to the bedroom. He slipped in behind the man and pulled him close to the hard planes of his body. He couldn’t help but think that a normal partner would get too upset with the teasing to want to be touched. But this was Sherlock, and though he wasn’t the affectionate sort, he needed the comfort at times.  The man was logical enough to weigh his options. He could pout or be comforted. After a humiliation like that, cuddling in the darkness was, in fact, the better choice.

 

On May 18th of 2014, Sherlock solved an attempted murder at his best friend’s wedding. It was a very social affair with dancing and music—a waltz provided by Sherlock himself—and the typical wedding hook ups. And Sherlock left early. Despite his denial, it was indeed as Mrs. Hudson said. It was the end of an era. Sherlock was already uncomfortable with so many people and the implication of it all was much too much, so he called one of two people he felt the most comfortable with.

“Hello, Victor. I know it’s late—“

“Bee? I thought you were at John’s wedding.”

“Ah. I left early… I’d played my piece and there was so much stupid in the room. I couldn’t stand to be there any longer.”

“You sound odd… Come over.”

“I do not. No.”

“Yeah, well. I miss you, then. Now will you come over?”

“…Sure.”

 

A month later, Sherlock tested positive for drugs in a lab at St. Bart’s and was revealed to be in a relationship with Janine.  A month after that, he was in Bart’s again, healing up after a gunshot wound. This is when John finally met Victor Trevor.

John came in around noon to bring Sherlock a cuppa and he saw a rather tall, dark-skinned man sitting at the edge of Sherlock’s bed speaking animatedly to him.

Noticing John’s presence, Victor quickly stood and offered his hand to the smaller man and shook his hand firmly. “Victor Trevor. John, right? I’ve read your blogs. Excellent work keeping this one out of trouble…well, except now I suppose,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his head with his other hand. “But it’s Sherlock. We all do our best.” He noticed the complete lack of recognition on John’s features and threw back his head in a laugh. “Ah, he hasn’t told you about me, then…”

“Um, no. No, he hasn’t. I’m sorry. Am I supposed to…” John gestured vaguely and looked over at Sherlock, who wasn’t at all helpful in the awkward situation.

Victor let out a hearty laugh and looked between the detective and the blogger. “Ah, no, I don’t suppose you’d know. I’m his boyfr—“

“Partner,” Sherlock interrupted. “John, this is Victor Trevor—as he’s introduced himself—my partner.”

 

Later that evening Victor and Sherlock discussed the meeting with quite a bit of amusement.

“Will, his face was priceless. He had absolutely no idea I even existed,” Victor chuckled. He knew Sherlock and his eccentricities. It didn’t bother him that Sherlock didn’t tell John Watson about him, even though it they’d been together for nearly five years in Uni and afterwards and then another two years recently.

“Yes, well you’ve just never come up in conversation, I suppose,” Sherlock replied, shrugging. “And I don’t suppose I could’ve just brought it up in conversation. ‘How was your day at the surgery, John? By the way, I’ve got a long-term partner. His name is Victor Trevor and he works for Mycroft.’” He scoffed and ate some of the terrible hospital gelatin.

“You always say ‘partner,’” Victor chuckled.  

“’Boyfriend’ is juvenile,” Sherlock responded, rolling his eyes. “How would I introduce you? ‘This is my boyfriend, Victor.  He’s hot and has a nice arse’?” His tone was mocking and his he scoffed a bit at the end. 

Victor smiled. “I do? Thanks, Bee.” He took a sip of tea and leaned back against the foot of the hospital bed. “Correcting ‘boyfriend’ to ‘partner’ is pretentious. There’s a solution to that, you know. If you married me, we’d be husbands, which is much less juvenile and completely unpretentious.”

“I don’t believe in marriage, Victor. You know that.  It’s meaningless, completely useless,” Sherlock scoffed. “If you’d like to go on a sex holiday where we celebrate being together and then come back to live our lives still together, then we can. I’ve been meaning to get my hands on Peruvian soil samples-- ”

“It’s not about honeymoons or that kind of stuff, Bee…What if you get hurt like this again and they don’t let me see you?” Victor asked much more seriously than their earlier banter.

“Mycroft could get you clearance.  We don’t need our relationship on paper. It changes nothing and means nothing.”

 “I don’t want to go through Mycroft for things we could get on our own. I don’t think I should have to ask your brother to see you in the ICU or have him get my benefits to you when I die. I’d like it to be automatic, Bee…” He took Sherlock’s hand.

“It’s paper, Vic,” Sherlock said, eyebrows furrowed a bit.  He’d lost much of the adamancy he had initially, and Victor could tell.  It wasn’t marriage that he was opposed to; it was that he perceived it as useless.

“I’m sure you’re aware I’m a contract man,” Victor said. “The last eleven or so years of my life was dictated by a piece of paper.  You may not hold it highly, but I value contracts, Will… I was stupid for leaving all those years ago, and I’ll never do it again. I want you to have more than my word. I want to be bound to you legally just as I am in our daily lives.”

“Victor…” Sherlock’s voice was a bit unsure. He was still skeptical about marriage as he was convinced his logic wasn’t affected by Victor’s speech, but it wasn’t really about logic here, was it?

“I can’t stand those couples that discuss marriage to the point where the answer is predictable,” Victor mumbled. He got off the bed and got on one knee on the floor.  He tried not to feel Sherlock’s shocked gaze as he dug in his pocket for the ring. It was a simple titanium band with a small strip of diamond running vertically through the middle. “I’ve been thinking of this for a very long time… William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I love you, and I have for over a decade. Will you marry me?” He asked clearly, looking up at Sherlock with the most hopeful expression.

 Sherlock stared back, wide-eyed and mouth open slightly. He looked over the kneeling man, dark eyes full of love and anxiety and hair messed from his hand through it. He didn’t notice how long had passed before Victor was calling his name.

“Will? Still there? Bee, will you marry me?” he asked again, still holding the ring in one hand as he nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh, yes…um… fine. I’ll marry you,” Sherlock replied, nodding.

Victor let out a sigh of relief and his body visibly relaxed. A huge grin crossed his face and he stood to embrace the man on the hospital bed. He kissed Sherlock deeply and then pressed their foreheads together. “Is it too cliché to say that you’re making me the happiest man in the world?” he asked as he pulled back some.

“I’m sure there are happier,” Sherlock said, taking the joke very literally. He held his hand out for Victor to slip the ring on. He inspected it. It was a simple design, expensive and a bit old judging by the small bits of dust at the corners of the diamond. Price wasn’t ever an issue for Victor when they were younger because his family was wealthy. The ring looked ten years old, at least. “Vic, this ring--”

“—is old, yes. I bought it the first time I thought of asking you to be my husband, but I chickened out after one of my mates got married and you called marriage a ‘useless social convention,’” he chuckled with a shrug. That wasn’t the real reason. He was never actually deterred by Sherlock’s lack of faith in the institution. He bought the ring when Sherlock had quit drugs but he never got the nerve to ask before the next relapse and their subsequent split.

“I would have denied you,” Sherlock said, noticing the white lie in Victor’s answer but leaving it alone. “It’s lovely.” He held Victor’s hand in his and moved to the side as much as he could in the tiny hospital bed. “Come here,” he said, tugging the man closer.

Victor climbed onto the bed with his now fiancée and held him close—being extra careful of the tubes and IV. “I love you,” he said, kissing Sherlock’s hair.

“You have too strong of a desire to confirm your affections,” Sherlock said. “But I love you too, Vic.”

**Author's Note:**

> The ring: http://cdn2.jamesallen.com/Sets/Jewelry/16022/set16022W_NOP_Stg_480X380.jpg
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
